ensued a new phase in the relation of simon and lucy. once they had met in freedom, neither felt inclined to revert to the restricted courtship of the drawing-room. even though their chat was merely of books and music and pictures, it was delicious to make their own atmosphere, untroubled by the flippancy of the brother or the earnestness of the father. in the presence of lucy's artistic knowledge simon was at once abashed and stimulated. she moved in a delicate world of symphonies and silver-point drawings of whose very existence he had been unaware, and reverence quickened the sense of romance which their secret meetings had already enhanced.

once or twice he spoke of resuming his visits to [83]harrow, but the longer he delayed the more difficult the conciliatory visit grew.

'father is now deeper in the league than ever,' she told him. 'he has joined the committee, and the prospectus has gone forth in all its glorious self-contradiction.'

'but, considering i am the son of an alien, and i have fought for——'

'there, there! quarrelsome person,' she interrupted laughingly. 'no, no, no, you had better not come till you can forget your remote genealogy. you see, even now father doesn't quite realize you are a jew. he thinks you have a strain of jewish blood, but are in every other respect a decent christian body.'

'christian!' cried simon in horror.

'why not? you fought side by side with my brother; you ate ham with us.'

simon blushed hotly. 'but, lucy, you don't think religion is ham?'

'what, then? merely shem?' she laughed.

simon laughed too. how clever she was! 'but you know i never could believe in the trinity and all that. and, what's more, i don't believe you do yourself.'

'it isn't exactly what one believes. i was baptized into the church of england—i feel myself a member. really, sim, you are a dreadfully argumentative and quarrelsome person.'

'i'll never quarrel with you, lucy,' he said half entreatingly; for somehow he felt a shiver of cold at the word 'baptized,' as though himself plunged into the font.

[84]in this wise did both glide away from any deep issue or decision till the summer itself glided away. mrs. cohn, anxiously following the courtship through sim's love-smitten eyes, her suggestion that the girl be brought to see her received with equal postponement, began to fret for the great thing to come to pass. one cannot be always heroically stiffened to receive the cavalry of communal criticism. waiting weakens the backbone. but she concealed from her boy these flaccid relapses.

'you said you'd bring her to see me when she returned from the seaside,' she ventured to remind him.

'so i did; but now her father is dragging her away to scotland.'

'you ought to get married the moment she gets back.'

'i can't expect her to rush things—with her father to square. still, you are not wrong, mother. it's high time we came to a definite understanding between ourselves at least.'

'what!' gasped mrs. cohn. 'aren't you engaged?'

'oh, in a way, of course. but we've never said so in so many words.'

for fear this should be the 'english' way, mrs. cohn forbore to remark that the definiteness of the sugarman method was not without compensations. she merely applauded simon's more sensible mood.

but mrs. cohn was fated to a further season of fret. day after day the 'fat letters' arrived with the scottish postmark and the faint perfume that always stirred her own wistful sense of lost romance—something far-off and delicious, with the sweetness of roses [85]and the salt of tears. and still the lover, floating in his golden mist, vouchsafed her no definite news.

one night she found him restive beyond his wont. she knew the reason. for two days there had been no scented letter, and she saw how he started at every creak of the garden-gate, as he waited for the last post. when at length a step was heard crunching on the gravel, he rushed from the room, and mrs. cohn heard the hall-door open. her ear, disappointed of the rat-tat, morbidly followed every sound; but it seemed a long time before her boy's returning footstep reached her. the strange, slow drag of it worked upon her nerves, and her heart grew sick with premonition.

he held out the letter towards her. his face was white. 'she cannot marry me, because i am a jew,' he said tonelessly.

'cannot marry you!' she whispered huskily. 'oh, but this must not be! i will go to the father; i will explain! you saved his son—he owes you his daughter.'

he waved her hopelessly back to her seat—for she had started up. 'it isn't the father, it's herself. now that i won't let her drift any longer, she can't bring herself to it. she's honest, anyway, my little lucy. she won't fall back on the old jew-baiter.'

'but how dare she—how dare she think herself above you!' her dog-like eyes were blazing yet once again.

'why are you jews surprised?' he said bitterly. 'you've held yourself aloof from the others long enough, god knows. yet you wonder they've got their prejudices, too.'

and, suddenly laying his head on the table, he broke [86]into sobs—sobs that tore at his mother's heart, that were charged with memories of his ancient tears, of the days of paternal wrath and the rending of 'the pirates of pechili.' and, again, as in the days when his boyish treasures were changed to ashes, she stole towards him, with an involuntary furtive look to see if s. cohn's back was turned, and laid her hands upon his heaving shoulders. but he shook her off! 'why didn't a boer bullet strike me down?' then with a swift pang of remorse he raised his contorted face and drew hers close against it—their love the one thing saved from anglicization.